


They Just Fit Together

by harlequindream



Category: Doctor Who RPF
Genre: Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-07
Updated: 2016-01-07
Packaged: 2018-05-12 08:23:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5659432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harlequindream/pseuds/harlequindream





	They Just Fit Together

He calls her one day, out of the blue. And yeah, she says that now because once upon a time they never used to go three days without speaking on the phone or otherwise, but that’s stopped. They rarely actually speak to each other unless they have to. It’s not because they’re not friends anymore, they very much are, but they just aren’t what they used to be.

And how could you be? After what they did for an _entire summer_. Sure, many people could have done that and gone on naturally with their lives, but that’s assuming no one else was in the picture. Which for him it very much was the case.

And no, they’re not bitter about it. They don’t regret it, not exactly anyway. It’s just that they’d rather not talk about it, let alone think about it. 

But David calls her one day. For no apparent reason because she’s certain they don’t have anything coming up that involves them, _together._ In the space of three seconds she contemplates whether she should answer at all. She could just listen to his voicemail afterwards, or at least forget about it like she normally would. That wouldn’t be odd, because she is often known for that.

Except Catherine’s kind of curious, so she answers her phone.

“Hey, David,” she says, tired and unable to find some fake happiness to fill her voice with.

“Catherine! Hi,” he answers and he’s far too cheery already. “Wasn’t sure I’d get you.”

“Yes, well, here I am. How are you? How is everyone?” She genuinely wants to know; she’s not a grumpy, petty person. She cares about him, always has. There’s no reason to be unpleasant but the thing is, she’d rather not have to try at all.

“They’re good, I’m good. Everything is fine. You? How are things with you?” his voice is a little strained, because Catherine’s best guess is that he’d rather not have to talk about _them_ with her either. 

Seriously, they care, really. It’s just… Hard.

“Things are fine on my end, too,” she sighs, almost smiles before she thinks how odd that would feel now. “What’s on your mind?”

“Just thought you might like to have dinner some time soon? I’m around for a while and a catch-up would be nice, yeah?” he says, rather hopeful.

She immediately and desperately wants to say no, of course not. Except, she doesn’t have an excuse on hand. Anything she comes up with he’ll see right through it, because that’s them, and that’s the _downside._ They know each other so well.

“How soon were you thinking?”

“Tomorrow, maybe?” She’s not busy. She doesn’t have her daughter tomorrow night. She doesn’t have anything to watch on the telly. She _does_ have a good book on the go, but that probably isn’t an excuse to skip a dinner with someone who is meant to be one of your best friends. 

“Alright,” she concedes. “Tomorrow it is.”

_Shit._ She had hoped this would never happen. It’s been almost five years but that’s just too soon. Probably. Right? You spend months sleeping with your best friend, develop deep feelings for him and then you stop it completely and suddenly because he’s getting married and there’s a guy who has been nice to you and you’ve just got to move on, right?

So this dinner is bound to be a disaster, because it’s only been five years and Catherine hasn’t moved on at all. 

 

\

 

Catherine spends half the afternoon figuring out what to wear, which is not like her because usually it’s just jeans and top that’s clean, but this needs planning and proper decisive decisions. Whatever she wears is going to represent how okay she is with this dinner with David. If she wears something too casual, then it’ll show she’s just lazy and couldn’t be bothered changing out what she’d put on in the morning. Yet if she over-does it, David will think that _she thinks_ the dinner is more than it really is.

_Fuck._ She’s thinking too hard about it. _Anything, pick anything,_ she screams inside her head, because this isn’t a quiz show, it’s her wardrobe. And its just David. He probably doesn’t care anyway. 

Eventually she does go with black jeans but a pretty lacy white shirt that she got a couple months back. It also happens to be one of the first shirts on top of the clean clothes pile. Almost no effort involved.

She knows what time her train into the city is, and she stalls at home for as long as she can, _hoping_ she’ll miss it and she’ll get the next one and only be a little late. So she waits about five minutes, then steps out of her house, immediately thinking, _I want to go home._

But as luck would fucking have it, the trains are running late anyway and she easily manages to catch the one she needs.

She still takes her time to walk to the restaurant David told her about, and in this moment she’s thankful he didn’t pick somewhere they used to go out of nostalgia or something, because that would be way too much. So she’s five minutes late but that’s still a respectable time to show up, and with the deepest breath she’s ever taken, Catherine walks into the restaurant.

She wants to go home.

 

\

 

It’s a little awkward at the beginning. This is the _first_ dinner they’ve had entirely alone since… Before. There have always been other people with them. It’s a strange concept to both of them; five years and they haven’t had a dinner completely alone. It’s been a good decision, honestly. Within the first year or two they would have just ended up fucking again and fallen into old habits and who knows where they would be now.

David is as kind and funny and sweet as she knows him, and her nerves ease as they get their food. She doesn’t really want to go home anymore, because here is her best friend, everything feels sort of normal, and she has missed him. Not in that way, but she’s just missed his presence. He feels it too because he tells her so, to which she blushes ever so slightly and when she looks at him he’s got this dopey grin on his face. _Like old times._

Catherine is the one to point out how late it’s getting and that she should go home.

“I’ll drive you home,” David is quick to say.

“That’s okay, I’ll just get a cab or something.”

“No, there’s no point in spending the money or twenty minutes with someone who will give you boring conversation.”

“It’s not a problem,” she laughs. “I really don’t mind.”

“Come on, Catherine. Just let me drive you home,” he protests, and he already looks hurt at the potential (almost definite) denial she wants to give him. He’s got a dejected look in his eyes, and maybe it’s because it hurts her too much to see that look again, or that it’s just _so_ sad, but she forfeits. 

“Fine, you can take me home.”

David grins like a three-year-old and stands up, waiting for her to lead the way out of the restaurant. Catherine does go first, but wishes she hadn’t when she takes her coat and walks out the door, only to feel David’s hand resting on her lower back. He’s only ushering her out, like he always does, _but that’s the thing._ He always _did._ He’s not meant to be doing it now. Old habits die hard, but when was the last ever time he did that? More than four years ago was the last time. It shouldn’t come back to him as easily as it seems to have. 

He clearly realizes it because he whispers an apology in her ear, which she doesn’t get to appreciate because all she can feel is his breath on the back of her neck and it throws her for a moment. It’s like walking down an alley and turning around a corner only to be met with a strong wind and feeling like you’ll be blown over. It knocks her back, and now she just wants to go home again. To somewhere safe.

She doesn’t say anything while they’re in the car, but David doesn’t either. Catherine doesn’t really trust her own words to say anything. She can’t be certain but she suspects David’s reason is similar to her own. 

He makes his way easily to her house, like he’s done it a thousand times before. _Which he has._ He knows which streets to turn onto to get there in record time. She doesn’t want to think about _what_ they’d have to be in such a hurry for. That’s just cruel to her own feelings at this point. 

It’s just complete silence, and it’s killing her. They were doing so well at dinner and now this. It is the first time they’ve actually been alone together. Back then Catherine told him it was a smart idea to always have someone else around, and it’s usually not that hard. But now, after all the time that has passed it’s a natural thought that they’d be alright. That they’d have something to talk about, but clearly not. She’s just suffering in their silence.

There’s hardly any traffic in her neighbourhood at this time of night so David is pulling up out the front of her house in no time. He parks, turns the car off, and just stops. So does she. Neither of them make a move to exit the car. Not that he should, but she should definitely go inside. Now. Just get out of the car and go into the house. _Do it._

Catherine goes to release her seat belt and David grabs her hand. _Barely_ , but she can feel his hand. So warm and familiar, and gentle. Her eyes drift shut and she sighs.

“No, David,” she murmurs sympathetically. 

“We should talk about it, after all this time.” His voice is like honey, sticky and sweet and she can’t pull away from him when he’s like this.

“No, we shouldn’t. There’s nothing to say.”

“Of course there is,” he breathes and undoes his own seatbelt to turn more towards her. “I had a good time at dinner, and I miss that.”

She glances to him, and he looks to sad. There’s only one street lamp near them, but still too far, and she can barely see his face. Just an outline. She guesses that her look mirrors his, because she misses it too. It was a better time when they could easily go out for dinner, or lunch, or _anything_ and it be like normal. Even during their little… thing, it felt normal. Now it’s just strange.

“I miss it, too,” she whispers. “But there’s nothing we can do about it. This is the way things are.”

His eyes _plead_ with her. Plead to change her words, change her thoughts. He’s silently begging for her to change her mind, and Catherine can feel it working. She despises how easily she can fold to him. 

“I want my best friend back,” he mumbles. 

“I’m right here.”

“Why can’t we be like before?”

“You know why!” she raises her voice, but he’s just not getting it. Everything is so different now. They can’t just have what they used to.

“Stop finding some excuse as to why we can’t be normal,” he blurts out.

“I’m not, David-

“Yes, you are,” he interrupts and he stares so intensely at her that she feels tears coming to her eyes. This was not what she had in mind. Sitting in David’s car, on the verge of screaming and crying at him to stop forcing their friendship to be something it can never be again. 

Catherine get’s it, she really does. Everything was so wonderful at some point and now look at them. They are completely damaged. Hurt, broken. They can pretend all they like, which is what they literally do for a living, but in moments like these it’s too hard to keep up appearances. 

David leans over to her, and she shies away, looking out the window to her house. Her dark, empty house. She doesn’t know what to do anymore.

“Catherine, look at me.” She shakes her head, quickly wiping a tear that has slipped onto her cheek unwillingly. “Please?” _That_ voice he uses, it’s not fair. He’s so sad and gentle and imploring her to reconsider everything. Catherine turns, her body betraying her brain. 

“All I’m saying is I miss you, and I want you back, as a friend, of course.” She’s amazed how genuine he sounds, because it’s not all he wants. David must have forgotten that she can see right through him. 

And so obviously, her body betrays her brain and she stretches over to David, lands a hand on his cheek and pulls him closer so her lips fall on his.

David’s reaction is automatic. He’s already falling into old patterns. He grips a hand around her waist and tries to pull her body closer, so _at last_ he can feel her against him again, after all this time. David moves the hand on her waist down, until it grips her thigh and he tries to pull it over him. They shift until they’re _so close_ but the console in the middle of the car gets in the way. 

Catherine pulls back from him slightly only to whisper, “Back seat.” David nods briefly but grips a hand in her hair and brings her lips back to his own, dragging his tongue along her bottom lip and nipping her. Catherine gasps, and she knows it sounds so desperate but she just doesn’t _care._

She’s falling, and breaking apart at the seams. This was never supposed to happen again. Never, ever. Yet she can’t help herself. She’s forgotten how he kisses her, and touches her. His hands burn as he touches her, making new scars over the old ones. 

“Back seat,” David sighs against her mouth. After a moment they disentangle themselves and Catherine waits until he can move. He’s all limbs so he makes it look so much more difficult than it is. His legs and arms are everywhere as he stumbles his way into the back of his car, and Catherine can’t help but giggle. He might look nimble and quick, but he’s just as awkward as anyone.

For the sake of ease, she strips off her jeans as David gets situated in the back. She braces herself against the front seats to fall gracefully into the back of the car and drops into David’s lap. His hands are immediately on her body, burning the skin of her thighs, burning the lace edge of her underwear. 

David’s tongue is curling up her neck, and she just feels so hot, and breathless, and feels like this was the only way they’re meant to be. She drags a hand down his covered chest and slips her fingers underneath his sweater. “Off, take it off,” she begs.

“Yours too,” he mumbles against the spot on her neck which they both love so much. Like a choreographed routine they pull away, strip off their shirts, and press back against each other. It helps having the practice, they think. 

Eventually, when the windows are a little foggy and the light from the singular streetlamp can barely make it inside the car, Catherine moves her hands to David’s jeans. Undoing the button and pulling down the zip. David groans into her breasts when she brushes a delicate hand over his want for her. She’s forced to rise from his lap so they can pull his jeans and pants down to his knees.

Catherine doesn’t manage to bite back the breathy moan when David pulls her back into his lap, feeling the pulsing heat of him against the wet lace of her underwear. She tangles a hand in his hair as she grinds against him for extra effect. Her nails dig into his skull, but his hands are still so gentle on her body. They run up and down her back, to her thighs, to her breasts. It’s good, it really is, but this is not the time or setting to keep being sweet. Then it hits her.

He still loves her.

It’s not that she didn’t know he _had_ loved her. If she loved him five years ago then by the way he treated her it was clear it was a mutual feeling, but she didn’t expect it to still be there. Not after all this time. 

It is, though, in the gentle way he’s touching her, even when she’s basically attacking him, biting at his lips when she can, fingernails sinking into his skin. 

She doesn’t want him to love her, she just wants him to be David. Except the more he touches her, the more she’s melting into him again, vision blurring around the edges, mind following suit.

“I want you, now,” she moans into his jaw, sticking out her tongue to reach his earlobe then nipping it. David’s grip gets a little rougher, holds her tighter and she’s practically dripping with her need for him. David wraps one arm around her waist, keeping her pushed firmly against him while the other drops, hand hovering over the space between her thighs. 

“David,” she whimpers, pressing her cheek to his. He lifts his head and captures her lips once again, sliding his tongue into her mouth as he pushes the soaked fabric of her underwear out of the way. 

Catherine rises over him, taking some time to balance over him, teasing him as well as herself with slow undulations of her hips until he’s coated in her arousal and growling her name. They groan in relief when she finally sinks down and takes him as deep as he’ll go.

Catherine takes a moment to savour the feel of him, she’s forgotten how this feels, too. The scorching heat of him throbbing and firm inside her, and when she’s waited about as long as she can she starts to rock her hips forward, gasping at the sparks of pleasure already shooting up her spine. It’s just been too long…

She knows this won’t last long, but it’ll be so fucking good.

David’s hands skim up and down the fevered skin of Catherine’s back, pressing her body closer to his with each thrust, their slick torsos slamming together each time she rises and falls. 

She can feel her orgasm building at the base of her spine, starting to spread throughout her nerves, that familiar coil of blazing white heat winding tight in her abdomen. Catherine can feel that David isn’t far behind her, his shallow breaths coming in short, sharp pants against her collarbone. His hands move to her hips, pushing himself further into her every time she comes back down onto him.His name comes from her mouth like a prayer, like it’s the only thing she knows, and she feels her inner walls tremble and clamp hard around him. David’s hand slips between them, finding her clit and circles hard and fast, and with that she’s done.

Catherine buries her face into David’s neck to stifle the raw cry of relief caught in her throat and clings to him tightly as he spills inside of her.

They’re both sticky with sweat and arousal as they lie flush against each other. Catherine slowly begins to drift down from her height of pleasure, telling herself it shouldn’t feel so comfortable against David’s naked chest, but she just can’t bring herself to move.

She almost falls asleep because David’s hands are tracing random patterns on the soft skin of her back. Sometimes it’s like the entire world is reduced to the way he draws his fingers up and down the curve of her spine. But she can still feel a sort of immeasurable tension clinging to him, keeping his movements a little stiffer and guarded than she ever remembers him being after sex. 

Catherine lifts her head from his shoulder and looks up to find him watching her in a deep uncertainty, a mixture of fear and hopefulness dancing in his electric eyes. She doesn’t know if there’s anything she can say, so she tilts her head enough to seal her mouth over his, kissing him thoroughly until she can feel him twitch within her.

“We should go inside if you want more,” she jokingly murmurs into his jaw, scraping her teeth over his infamous stubble. She can feel his subsequent groan resonate through his skin. 

“Now we’ll really have to talk,” he replies softly, the dark husk of his voice implying otherwise. 

She sighs and slowly manoeuvres off of him.

“I suppose now isn’t good for you, but what about tomorrow?” David brings a hand to her cheek, rubbing a thumb across her cheekbone then tucking some stray hair behind her ear. 

“Sounds good to me,” he replies, and she smiles. She braces her hands against his chest as she leans in and pecks him on the lips before pulling away again, only to see him _finally_ smiling at her. A proper, true smile that makes his eyes shine and crinkle in the corner. She likes seeing him like this.

“I should, uh, get inside,” she mumbles and scratches lightly at the stubble she’s missed on her skin so much. David nods and let’s go of her body so she can slip back into the front seat to put her clothes back on. He passes her the shirt she was wearing just as they hear a car come up the road and a pair of headlights illuminates their darkness. They both duck quickly to avoid being seen, even though the windows are still fogged up lightly. She’s just realizing how fucking stupid it was to do this in his car, _on the street._ She’s completely different when she’s with this man. 

David walks her to the front door, like he’s always done before. “You should comb your hair a little. Try to make it look like you haven’t just had sex,” she grins at him as she leans against the door with her shoulder. 

“Whatever you say,” he says as he leans in, but she presses a hand to his chest and pushes him back.

“We can’t, not out here,” she sighs, and he nods. David just continues to reach for her hand on his chest, pulls it to his lips and kisses each of her fingers. 

“Talk later, yeah?” he whispers, his voice is on the verge of breaking. All Catherine can do is nod, because she knows if she’ll speak it’ll just sound like she’s about to cry. And just because she knows David knows this, she won’t prove it to him anyway. 

She watches him walk away, not moving from her stance at the door. She can’t move, doesn’t want to. If she moves, she’ll just continue on with her life like before and this will all be forgotten again. She doesn’t want to forget this feeling. The feeling that David loves her. She can see it in his eyes before he gets into the car, and she just hopes he can’t see the tears but the love in her eyes, too. 

It’s not like they ever had this magnificent and pure love you see in books and movies and plays. Not that kind of once in a lifetime type of love, because they didn’t. Far from it. They just kind of fit in all the right places and she remembers, even now, climbing into her cold and empty bed, that when she lies with David in a mass of tangled limbs and sweet sighs she thinks about how it was the kind of fit you only find once in a lifetime if you’re lucky. Like it’s always there, lying dormant in the contours of her heart and once upon a time she had taught herself to ignore it. Once upon a time she thought, albeit foolishly, that she could live with it like that, always present, but numb, masked by the rest of her pain in her life. Yet now it still creeps up on her in the middle of the night, strangling her with the threat of never letting go. 

Catherine thinks this is what tonight was; just a flare up. It came back to the front of her mind, and being with David just gets so hard sometimes and being alone with him was the final straw. It just exploded, and now she has to live with it, like she had to live with it before. 


End file.
